The entire experience -- from SATs to interviews -- was torturous. I so desperately wanted to go to Penn, and some nights I stared at my night-spotted ceiling, pondering the imminent lifetime of doom that would follow my rejection letter. And, as most things in my life, even my (eventual) acceptance was dramatic. It was not until the thunderstorming night before senior prom -- seriously! I couldn't make this up if I tried! -- that I received the precious email: I'd been pulled off of the wait list.
Grad school applications were slightly less agonizing. Perhaps it was the difference between teenage passions and late-onset senioritis. Or maybe a slightly more learned outlook, reminding me Oh hell, if it works, it works. If not, you'll find another place to blossom.
So, I wrote my research proposals, gathered letters of recommendation, paid the application fee, and pulled the trigger --
A few months later, there she was! My plump packet of acceptance materials, welcoming me to the London School of Economics.
I've many more details and adventures to come -- but, for now, it's time to prepare my packing list of essentials (from wellies to Scottish wool sweaters) for my latest hop across the pond.
'Til next time,
kisses from your favourite Londoner
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